Marriage Under the Mistletoe. Helen Lacey

every day. I’m good at talking. “And when do you play?”

      It wasn’t exactly what she’d planned to say. Because it sounded outright flirtatious. And she never flirted. Without warning, the sexy-as-sin Scott Jones had somehow tapped in to the female part of her she’d kept under wraps for a decade.

      “I mean,” she said quickly, covering her escalating embarrassment. “Do you like sports and stuff?”

      “I like sports.” He smiled. “Do you?”

      “I like to watch sports,” she admitted. “Even the macho sweaty kind like football.”

      “But you don’t play?”

      She shrugged, suddenly feeling like a couch potato. “I run.”

      “Me, too.”

      With that body he did more than run—Evie would bet her boots on it.

      “Shall we get going?” she asked, changing the subject. Before he had a chance to reply she grabbed her coffee and food and made her way outside. The late-afternoon sun was settling toward dusk and they still had another three hours driving ahead. It would be well after dark by the time they arrived into Crystal Point.

      She hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and waited until they were both buckled up before heading off. They had a few minutes of silence before he spoke.

      “Lacrosse.”

      Evie slanted a sideways look. “What?”

      “You’d probably like it,” he said. “It can be macho and sweaty.”

      “I thought it was badminton on steroids?”

      He laughed, and the sound thrilled her down to her toes. “Ouch. You don’t miss a man’s ego with that aim.”

      A smile curled the edges of her mouth. “I’m guessing you play?”

      “Yes. I still think you’d like it.”

      “The next time I’m in L.A. I’ll be sure to catch a game.”

      “Have you ever been?”

      “Once,” she replied. “Years ago. Gordon and I did the whole tourist thing just after we were married.”

      “Gordon? That was your husband?”

      “Yes, he was.” Her voice automatically softened. “He’s dead.”

      “Callie told me that,” he said soberly. “You must miss him.”

      “Yes.”

      “Were you happy?”

      She shot a glance sideways for a moment. It was a highly personal question from a stranger. A stranger who would soon be family. Part of the Preston clan. Except, she hadn’t been Evie Preston for a long time. She was Evie Dunn, mother of one—mother-hen, her father often called her. The girl most likely to fade into the background and do whatever needed to be done. The sensible daughter.

      “We were very happy,” she said quietly.

      “And does your son look like his father?”

      “No,” she replied. “Trevor looks like me.”

      “Lucky kid.”

      Another compliment. He was good at them. He had an easygoing way about him and a kind of masculine confidence she figured he’d probably possessed since the cradle.

      Evie was tempted to say thank you, but she caught herself before the words left her mouth.

      He stretched out his legs and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his thighs.

      I really need to pull myself together...and fast.

      She went for a rabbit in a hat. “So, your girlfriend couldn’t come on this trip with you?”

      “I’m single,” he replied flatly.

      “Sorry,” she said automatically. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

      He looked at her again. She felt the burning intensity of his gaze through to her blood. He wasn’t fooled, either. She wanted to know, foolishly, if there was a woman in his life. And she felt stupid. Incredibly stupid. Like a silly teenager gushing over the new boy in school.

      She glanced at him, hoping he didn’t notice, and wondered where all these sudden hormones had come from. Okay, so he wasn’t a boy. He was the furthest thing from a boy.

      But he’s young. Way younger than acceptable.

      Boy-Toy sprang to mind. Ridiculous. Cougar followed on its tail, racing around in her head like a chant, telling her to stop dreaming impossible dreams.

      “I broke up with my ex-girlfriend over a year ago.”

      Evie looked at Scott again, slanting her gaze sideways while concentrating on the road ahead. “I’m sorry.”

      “Are you?”

      She gripped the steering wheel. “I guess...” Her words trailed, then stopped. “Actually I’m usually not one for platitudes. So I’ll happily take that back and stop sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

      “It would be a shame to waste such a pretty nose, don’t you think?”

      Evie’s skin tingled. He turned a good line. She pointed to a stack of CDs in the center console. “You can choose some music if you like.”

      He took a moment before flicking through the pile, and then Jack Johnson’s voice filtered through the cab.

      “Good pick,” she said on a sharp breath.

      “You sound surprised?”

      Evie stared directly ahead. “My son tossed them to me this morning. I had no idea what he’d chosen. I expected—”

      “That I’d go for something a little less mellow?”

      “I guess.”

      “I was raised on a steady diet of jazz from my father, and classic bands like The Eagles and Bread from my mom, who was, and still is a seventies purist,” he explained. “I like most types of music.”

      Evie felt distinctly put in her place. “Sorry.”

      “That’s a favorite word of yours.”

      Around you it is. But she didn’t say it. All she wanted to do was stop thinking about his washboard belly, unfairly cute dimple and nice voice.

      “I’ll just...” she began, and then stalled because she knew he was looking at her, summing her up and working her out. “I’m really quite okay to not talk if you’d prefer. You’ve had a long flight and I’m...”

      He laughed softly. “Chill out, Evie,” he said with a grin she couldn’t see but knew was on his lips. “I can cope without conversation.”

      He settled back in the seat and Evie drew in a sharp breath, feeling like such a fraud. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. She only knew that in a matter of hours, her life—the life she’d lived for so many years—seemed a lot like a life half-lived.

      It was as though she’d been asleep for years, not thinking, not wondering. But Evie was wondering now. And she was awake. Wide awake.

      Chapter Two

      Scott woke up in a strange bed. He rolled onto his back, blinked twice and took stock of his surroundings. A nice room with sloping walls. A comfortable mattress. Clean sheets that smelled like fresh-squeezed lemons. Another scent caught his attention. Coffee. And vanilla.

      Green eyes, lips the color of ripe California cherries, dark curly hair dancing down a woman’s back.

      Evie Dunn.

      Scott